The Master and Margarita

CHAPTER 2. Pontius Pilate       In a white cloak  with  blood-red lining, with the shuffling gait of  acavalryman, early in the morning of  the fourteenth day of  the spring monthof  Nisan, there came out to the  covered colonnade between the two wings ofthe  palace  of  Herod  the Great'  the  procurator of  Judea,^[2]Pontius Pilate.^[3]     More than  anything in the world the procurator hated the smell of roseoil, and  now  everything foreboded a bad  day, because this smell had  beenpursuing the procurator since dawn.     It seemed to the procurator that a rosy smell exuded from the cypressesand palms in the garden, that the smell of leather trappings and sweat  fromthe convoy was mingled with the cursed rosy flux.     From the outbuildings at the back of the palace, where the first cohortof  the  Twelfth  Lightning   legion,^[4]  which   had   come   toYershalaim^{[5  ]}with the  procurator, was  quartered, a  whiff  ofsmoke reached the colonnade across the upper terrace of the palace, and thisslightly acrid  smoke, which testified that the centuries'  mess  cooks  hadbegun to prepare dinner, was mingled with the same thick rosy scent.     'Oh, gods, gods, why do you punish me? . . . Yes, no doubt, this is it,this  is it again, the  invincible, terrible illness  . .. hemicrania,  whenhalf of the  head aches .  . . there's no remedy for it,  no escape ... I'lltry not to move my head . . .'     On the mosaic floor by the fountain a chair was  already  prepared, andthe  procurator, without looking at anyone, sat in  it and reached his  handout to one side. His secretary  deferentially placed a sheet of parchment inthis  hand.  Unable to  suppress  a painful  grimace,  the procurator  ran acursory, sidelong  glance over the writing,  returned the  parchment  to thesecretary, and said with difficulty:     "The  accused is from  Galilee?^[6] Was  the case sent to thetetrarch?'     'Yes, Procurator,' replied the secretary.     'And what then?'     'He   refused  to   make  a   decision  on  the   case   and  sent  theSanhedrin's^{[7  ]}death  sentence to  you  for  confirmation,'  thesecretary explained.     The procurator twitched his cheek and said quietly:     'Bring in the accused.'     And at once two legionaries brought  a  man of about twenty-seven  fromthe garden terrace to the balcony under the columns and stood him before theprocurator's  chair.  The man  was  dressed  in  an  old and torn light-bluechiton. His head was covered by a white cloth with a leather band around theforehead, and his hands were bound behind his back. Under the man's left eyethere was a large bruise, in the corner of his mouth a cut caked with blood.The man gazed at the procurator with anxious curiosity.     The latter paused, then asked quiedy in Aramaic:^[8]     'So  it was  you  who  incited  the people  to  destroy  the temple  ofYershalaim?'^[9]     The procurator  sat  as if made of stone  while he spoke,  and only hislips moved slighdy as he pronounced the words. The procurator was as if madeof stone because he was afraid to move his head, aflame with infernal pain.     The man with bound hands leaned forward somewhat and began to speak:     'Good man! Believe me . ..'     But me procurator, motionless as  before and not  raising  his voice inthe least, straight away interrupted him:     'Is it  me that  you are  calling a good man? You are mistaken.  It  iswhispered about me in Yershalaim that  I am a fierce monster,  and  that  isperfecdv correct.' And he  added in the same monotone: 'Bring the  centurionRatslayer.'     It  seemed  to everyone that  it became  darker on the balcony when thecenturion of the first century. Mark, nicknamed Ratslayer, presented himselfbefore the  procurator. Ratslayer was a head taller than the tallest soldierof  the  legion and so broad in the shoulders that he completely blocked outthe still-low sun.     The procurator addressed the centurion in Latin:     'The  criminal calls me "good  man".  Take  him  outside  for a moment,explain to him how I ought to be spoken to. But no maiming.'     And  everyone except the motionless procurator followed  Mark Ratslayerwith their  eyes as  he motioned  to the  arrested man,  indicating  that heshould go  with him. Everyone  generally  followed Ratslayer with their eyeswherever he  appeared, because of his height, and  those who were seeing himfor the first  time  also  because the centurion's face was  disfigured: hisnose had once been smashed by a blow from a Germanic club.     Mark's heavy boots thudded across the mosaic, the bound man noiselesslywent  out with  him, complete  silence fell  in the colonnade, and one couldhear pigeons cooing on the garden terrace near the balcony and water singingan intricate, pleasant song in the fountain.     The procurator would have liked to get  up, put  his  temple  under thespout, and stay standing that way. But he knew that even that would not helphim.     Having  brought the arrested  man  from under the columns  out  to  thegarden, Ratslayer took a whip from the hands of a legionary who was standingat the foot of a bronze statue and, swinging easily, struck the arrested manacross the shoulders. The centurion's movement was casual and light, yet thebound man instantly collapsed on the ground as if his legs had been cut fromunder him; he gasped for ait, the colour drained from his face, and his eyeswent vacant.     With his left hand only. Mark heaved the fallen man  into the air  likean empty sack, set him on his feet,  and spoke nasally, in poorly pronouncedAramaic:     The Roman  procurator  is  called Hegemon.^[10] Use  no otherwords. Stand at attention. Do you understand me, or do I hit you?'     The arrested man swayed, but  got hold of himself, his colour returned,he caught his breath and answered hoarsely:     T understand. Don't beat me.'     A moment later he was again standing before the procurator.     A lustreless, sick voice sounded:     'Name?'     'Mine?' the arrested  man hastily responded, his whole being expressinga readiness to answer sensibly, without provoking further wrath.     The procurator said softly:     'I know my own. Don't pretend to be stupider than you are. Yours.'     'Yeshua,'" the prisoner replied prompdy.     'Any surname?'     'Ha-Nozri.'     'Where do you come from?'     The town  of Gamala,'^[12] replied  the  prisoner, indicatingwith his head that  there, somewhere far off to his right, in the north, wasthe town of Gamala.     'Who are you by blood?'     'I don't know exactly,' the arrested man  replied animatedly,  'I don'tremember my parents. I was told that my father was a Syrian . . .'     "Where is your permanent residence?'     'I have no permanent home,' the prisoner answered shyly, 'I travel fromtown to town.'     That  can be  put more briefly,  in a word - a vagrant,' the procuratorsaid, and asked:     'Any family?'     "None. I'm alone in the world.'     'Can you read and write?'     'Yes.'     'Do you know any language besides Aramaic?'     'Yes. Greek.'     A swollen eyelid rose, an eye clouded with suffering fixed the arrestedman. The other eye remained shut.     Pilate spoke in Greek.     'So it was you who was going to destroy  the temple building and calledon the people to do that?'     Here the prisoner again became animated, his eyes ceased  to show fear,and he spoke in Greek:     'Never, goo ..  .' Here terror flashed in the prisoner's eyes,  becausehe had nearly made a slip. 'Never, Hegemon,  never in my life was I going todestroy the temple building, nor did I incite anyone to this senseless act.'     Surprise showed on the face of the  secretary, hunched over a low tableand writing down the testimony. He raised his head, but immediately bent  itto the parchment again.     'All sorts of people gather  in this  town for  the  feast. Among  themthere are  magicians,  astrologers,  diviners and murderers,' the procuratorspoke in  monotone, 'and  occasionally also liars. You, for instance, are  aliar. It is written  clearly: "Incited to destroy the  temple".  People havetestified to it.'     These good people,' the prisoner spoke and, hastily  adding  'Hegemon',went on: '... haven't any learning and have confused everything I told them.Generally, I'm beginning  to be afraid that this confusion may go  on for  avery long time. And all because he writes down the things I say incorrecdy.'     Silence fell. By now both sick eyes rested heavily on the prisoner.     'I repeat  to you, but for the last time, stop pretending that you're amadman,  robber,' Pilate  said softly and  monotonously, 'there's  not  muchwritten in your record, but what there is is enough to hang you.'     'No, no, Hegemon,'  the arrested man  said,  straining  all over in hiswish to  convince,  'there's  one with a goatskin parchment who  follows me,follows me and keeps writing  all  the  time. But once  I  peeked  into thisparchment and was  horrified.  I said  decidedly nothing  of what's  writtenthere. I implored him:  "Burn your parchment, I beg you!" But he tore it outof my hands and ran away.'     'Who is that?' Pilate asked squeamishly and touched his temple with hishand.     'Matthew Levi,'^[13]  the prisoner  explained  willingly. 'Heused  to  be  a  tax  collector,  and  I  first  met  him  on  the  road  inBethphage,'^[4] where a fig grove juts out at an angle, and  I gotto talking with him. He treated me hostilely at first and even insulted me -that is,  thought  he insulted me -- by calling me a dog.' Here the prisonersmiled. 'I  personally see nothing bad  about this animal, that I should  beoffended by this word . . .'     The secretary  stopped writing  and stealthily cast a surprised glance,not at the arrested man, but at the procurator.     '. . . However, after listening to me, he began to soften,' Yeshua wenton,  'finally  threw  the  money down  in  the  road  and said  he would  gojourneying with me . . .'     Pilate grinned  with one cheek, baring yellow  teeth, and said, turninghis whole body towards the secretary:     'Oh, city ofYershalaim! What does  one not hear in it! A tax collector,do you hear, threw money down in the road!'     Not  knowing how to reply to that, the secretary found it necessary  torepeat Pilate's smile.     'He  said that  henceforth money  had  become hateful to  him,'  Yeshuaexplained Matthew Levi's strange  action and added: 'And since  then  he hasbeen my companion.'     His teeth still bared, the procurator glanced at the arrested man, thenat the sun, steadily  rising over the equestrian statues  of the hippodrome,which lay far below to the right, and  suddenly,  in some sickening anguish,thought that the  simplest thing would be to drive  this strange  robber offthe balcony by uttering just two words: 'Hang him.' To drive the convoy awayas  well,  to leave  the  colonnade,  go into  the  palace,  order  the roomdarkened,  collapse on the  bed,  send for cold  water, call in a  plaintivevoice  for his  dog Banga, and complain to him about the hemicrania. And thethought of poison suddenly flashed temptingly in the procurator's sick head,     He gazed  with dull eyes at the arrested man and was silent for a time,painfully trying to  remember  why there stood  before  him in  the pitilessmorning  sunlight of Yershalaim  this prisoner with  his face disfigured  bybeating, and what other utterly unnecessary questions he had to ask him.     'Matthew Levi?' the sick  man asked  in  a hoarse voice and closed  hiseyes.     'Yes, Matthew Levi,' the high, tormenting voice came to him.     'And  what was it in  any case that  you  said  about the temple to thecrowd in the bazaar?'     The   responding   voice   seemed  to  stab  at  Pilate's  temple,  wasinexpressibly painful, and this voice was saying:     'I said, Hegemon, that the temple of the old faith would fall and a newtemple of truth would be built. I  said it that way so  as to make  it  moreunderstandable.'     'And why did you stir up the people in the bazaar, you vagrant, talkingabout the truth, of which you have no notion? What is truth?'^[15]     And here the  procurator thought: 'Oh,  my  gods!  I'm asking him aboutsomething unnecessary at a trial... my reason no longer serves me . . .' Andagain he pictured a cup of dark liquid. 'Poison, bring me poison . . .'     And again he heard the voice:     The  truth is, first of all, that your head  aches, and aches so  badlythat  you're having  faint-hearted thoughts of death. You're not only unableto speak to me, but it is even hard for you to look at me. And I am now yourunwilling torturer, which upsets me. You can't even think about anything andonly dream  that  your dog should  come,  apparently the one being  you  areattached  to.  But your suffering will soon  be  over, your headache will goaway.'     The secretary  goggled his  eyes at the prisoner and stopped writing inmid-word.     Pilate raised his tormented eyes to the  prisoner and saw  that the sunalready stood quite high over the hippodrome, that a  ray had penetrated thecolonnade and  was stealing  towards Yeshua's worn sandals, and that the manwas trying to step out of the sun's way.     Here  the  procurator rose  from his chair, clutched his  head with hishands,  and his  yellowish,  shaven face expressed dread.  But  he instantlysuppressed it with his will and lowered himself into his chair again.     The prisoner  meanwhile continued his speech, but the  secretary was nolonger writing it down, and only stretched his neck like a goose, trying notto let drop a single word.     'Well,  there,   it's  all  over,'  the  arrested  man  said,  glancingbenevolently  at Pilate,  'and  I'm  extremely glad  of  it. I'd advise you,Hegemon,  to leave the palace for  a while and go  for a stroll somewhere inthe vicinity - say, in the gardens on the Mount of  Olives.^[16] Astorm  will come  .  . .'  the prisoner turned,  narrowing  his eyes at  thesun,'... later on, towards evening. A stroll would  do  you much good, and Iwould be  glad to accompany  you. Certain new thoughts  have occurred to me,which I think you might find interesting, and I'd willingly  share them withyou, the more  so as  you  give the  impression of being a very  intelligentman.'     The secretary turned deathly pale and dropped the scroll on the floor.     'The trouble is,' the  bound man  went on, not stopped by anyone, 'thatyou are too closed  off and have definitively lost faith in people. You mustagree,  one  can't  place  all  one's  affection  in  a  dog.  Your  life isimpoverished, Hegemon.' And here the speaker allowed himself to smile.     The  secretary now  thought of  only one thing, whether to  believe hisears or  not. He had to believe.  Then he  tried to  imagine precisely  whatwhimsical form the  wrath of the  hot-tempered procurator would take at thisunheard-of impudence from the prisoner. And this the secretary was unable toimagine, though he knew the procurator well.     Then came  the  cracked, hoarse  voice of the procurator, who  said  inLatin:     'Unbind his hands.'     One of the  convoy  legionaries rapped with  his  spear, handed  it  toanother, went over and took the ropes off the prisoner. The secretary pickedup his scroll, having decided to record nothing for now, and to be surprisedat nothing.     'Admit,'  Pilate  asked   softly  in  Greek,  'that  you  are  a  greatphysician?'     'No,  Procurator,  I  am  not  a  physician,'   the  prisoner  replied,delightedly rubbing a crimped and swollen purple wrist.     Scowling deeply,  Pilate  bored the prisoner with  his eyes, and  theseeyes were no longer dull, but flashed with sparks familiar to all.     'I didn't ask you,' Pilate said, 'maybe you also know Latin?'     'Yes, I do,' the prisoner replied.     Colour came to Pilate's yellowish cheeks, and he asked in Latin:     'How did you know I wanted to call my dog?'     'It's very simple,'  the prisoner replied  in  Latin. 'YOU  were movingyour hand in the air' -- and the prisoner  repeated Pilate's gesture --  'asif you wanted to stroke something, and your lips . . .'     'Yes,' said Pilate.     There was silence. Then Pilate asked a question in Greek:     'And so, you are a physician?'     'No,  no,' the prisoner  replied  animatedly, 'believe  me,  I'm  not aphysician.'     Very  well,  then,  if you want to keep it a  secret,  do so. It has nodirect  bearing on the case. So you maintain that you did not incite  anyoneto destroy ... or set fire to, or in any other way demolish the temple?'     'I  repeat, I did not  incite  anyone to such acts, Hegemon.  Do I looklike a halfwit?'     'Oh, no,  you don't look like a halfwit,' the procurator replied quiedyand smiled some strange smile. 'Swear, men, that it wasn't so.'     'By  what do  you  want  me  to  swear?' the unbound  man  asked,  veryanimated.     'Well,  let's  say, by  your life,'  the procurator replied. 'It's hightime you swore by it, since it's hanging by a hair, I can tell you.'     'You don't think it was you who hung it, Hegemon?' the  prisoner asked.'If so, you are very mistaken.'     Pilate gave a start and replied through his teeth:     'I can cut that hair.'     'In  that,  too, you  are  mistaken,'  the  prisoner  retorted, smilingbrightly and  shielding himself from  the sun with his hand. 'YOU must agreethat surely only he who hung it can cut the hair?'     'So,  so,'  Pilate said, smiling, 'now I  have no doubts that  the idleloafers of Yershalaim followed at your heels. I don't know  who hung  such atongue on you, but he hung it  well.  Incidentally, tell me, is it true thatyou  entered  Yershalaim  by  the  Susa  gate^[17]  riding  on  anass,^{[18  ]}accompanied   by  a  crowd  of  riff-raff  who  shoutedgreetings to  you as some  kind of  prophet?' Here the procurator pointed tothe parchment scroll.     The prisoner glanced at the procurator in perplexity.     'I don't even have an ass, Hegemon,' he said. 'I  did enter  Yershalaimby the Susa gate, but on foot, accompanied only by Matthew Levi, and no  oneshouted anything to me, because no one in Yershalaim knew me then.'     'Do you  happen to know,' Pilate continued wimout taking  his  eyes offthe  prisoner, 'such  men  as a certain Dysmas, another named  Gestas, and athird named Bar-Rabban?'^[19]     'I do not know these good people,' the prisoner replied.     Truly?'     Truly.'     'And now tell me, why is it that you use me words "good people" all thetime? Do you call everyone that, or what?'     'Everyone,' the  prisoner  replied.  There  are no  evil people  in theworld.'     The first I hear of it,' Pilate said, grinning. 'But perhaps I know toolittle  of  life!  ..  .  You  needn't record  any  more,'  he addressed thesecretary, who had  not recorded  anything anyway, and went on  talking withthe prisoner. 'YOU read that in some Greek book?'     'No, I figured it out for myself.'     'And you preach it?'     'Yes.'     'But  take,  for  instance,  the  centurion  Mark,  the  one  known  asRat-slayer - is he good?'     'Yes,' replied the prisoner. True,  he's an unhappy man. Since the goodpeople disfigured him, he has  become cruel and hard. I'd be curious to knowwho maimed him.'     'I can willingly tell you that,' Pilate responded, 'for I was a witnessto it. The good people  fell on him like dogs on  a bear. There were German!fastened  on  his  neck,  his  arms,  his  legs.  The  infantry maniple  wasencircled, and if one flank hadn't been  cut by a cavalry turm,  of  which Iwas  the  commander --  you, philosopher, would not  have had the  chance tospeak   with    the    Ratslayer.    That    was   at    the    battle    ofIdistaviso,^[20] in the Valley of the Virgins.'     'If  I could speak with him,' the prisoner suddenly said musingly, 'I'msure he'd change sharply.'     'I don't suppose,' Pilate responded, 'that you'd bring  much joy to thelegate  of the  legion  if you decided to talk with any  of  his officers orsoldiers.  Anyhow, it's also not going to happen, fortunately for  everyone,and I will be the first to see to it.'     At that moment a  swallow swiftly flitted into the colonnade, describeda  circle under the golden ceiling, swooped down, almost brushed the face ofa bronze statue in a niche with its pointed wing, and disappeared behind thecapital of a column. It may be that it thought of nesting there.     During its flight, a formula took shape in the now light and lucid headof the procurator. It went  like this: the hegemon has looked into  the caseof  the vagrant  philosopher  Yeshua,  alias Ha-Nozri, and  found in  it  nogrounds  for indictment.  In  particular,  he  has  found  not the slightestconnection between the acts  of  Yeshua and  the disorders  that have latelytaken place in Yershalaim. The vagrant philosopher has proved to be mentallyill. Consequently, the procurator  has not confirmed  the  death sentence onHa-Nozri passed  by the Lesser  Sanhedrin. But  seeing  that Ha-Nozri's  madUtopian talk  might  cause disturbances  in  Yershalaim, the  procurator  isremoving  Yeshua  from Yershalaim  and  putting  him  under  confinement  inStratonian  Caesarea  on the Mediterranean  -  that is, precisely  where theprocurator's residence was.     It remained to dictate it to the secretary.     The  swallow's wings  whiffled  right over the hegemon's head, the birddarted to the fountain basin and then flew out into freedom.  The procuratorraised his eyes to the prisoner and saw the dust blaze up in a pillar aroundhim.     'Is that all about him?' Pilate asked the secretary.     'Unfortunately not,'  the  secretary  replied  unexpectedly  and handedPilate another piece of parchment.     'What's this now?' Pilate asked and frowned.     Having  read what had  been handed to him, he changed  countenance evenmore:  Either  the  dark blood rose to his neck  and face, or something elsehappened,  only his skin  lost its  yellow tinge, turned brown, and his eyesseemed to sink.     Again  it  was probably owing to  the blood rising  to his  temples andthrobbing in them, only something happened to the procurator's vision. Thus,he imagined  that  the prisoner's  head floated off  somewhere,  and anotherappeared in its place.^[21]  On this bald head sat a scant-pointedgolden diadem. On the forehead was a round canker, eating into the  skin andsmeared  with  ointment.  A  sunken,  toothless  mouth  with  a   pendulous,capricious  lower lip.  It seemed  to Pilate  that  the  pink columns of thebalcony  and the  rooftops  of  Yershalaim  far  below,  beyond  the garden,vanished,  and  everything  was  drowned  in  the thickest  green  ofCapreangardens. And something strange also  happened to  his  hearing: it was as iftrumpets sounded  far  away,  muted and menacing, and a nasal voice was veryclearly heard, arrogandy drawling: 'The law of lese-majesty. . .'     Thoughts raced, short, incoherent and extraordinary: 'I'm lost! .  . .'then: 'We're lost! .  .  .' And among them a totally absurd one, about  someimmortality, which immortality for some reason provoked unendurable anguish.     Pilate strained,  drove  the  apparition away, his gaze returned to thebalcony, and again the prisoner's eyes were before him.     'Listen,  Ha-Nozri,'  the procurator spoke, looking  at  Yeshua somehowstrangely:  the procurator's face was  menacing, but his eyes  were alarmed,'did you ever say anything about the  great Caesar? Answer! Did you? .  .  .Yes ... or ... no?' Pilate drew  the word 'no' out  somewhat longer  than isdone in  court, and his glance sent Yeshua some thought that he wished as ifto instil in the prisoner.     To speak the truth is easy and pleasant,' the prisoner observed.     'I  have no need to know,' Pilate responded in a stifled, angry  voice,'whether it is pleasant or  unpleasant for you  to speak the truth. You willhave to speak it  anyway.  But, as you  speak, weigh  every word, unless youwant a not only inevitable but also painful death.'     No one  knew what  had happened  with the  procurator of Judea, but  heallowed  himself to raise his hand as  if to protect  himself from a ray  ofsunlight, and  from behind his hand, as from behind  a shield, to  send  theprisoner some sort of prompting look.     'Answer, then,' he went on speaking, 'do  you know a certain Judas fromKiriath,^[22] and what precisely did you  say to him about Caesar,if you said anything?'     'It was  like this,'  the prisoner began  talking eagerly.  The eveningbefore  last, near the temple, I made  the acquaintance  of a young man  whocalled  himself Judas, from  the town of Kiriath. He invited me to his placein the Lower City and treated me to . . .'     'A good man?' Pilate asked, and a devilish fire flashed in his eyes.     'A very  good man and an inquisitive  one,' the prisoner confirmed. 'Heshowed the greatest interest in my thoughts and  received me very cordially...'     'Lit the lamps . . .'^[23] Pilate spoke through his teeth, inthe same tone as the prisoner, and his eyes glinted.     Tes,' Yeshua went on, slighdy surprised that the procurator was so wellinformed, 'and asked me to give my view of state authority. He was extremelyinterested in this question.'     'And what did  you say?' asked Pilate. 'Or are you going to reply  thatyou've  forgotten  what  you  said?' But  there was  already hopelessness inPilate's tone.     'Among  other  things,'  the  prisoner  recounted,  'I  said  that  allauthority is violence over people, and that a time will come when there willbe no authority of  die Caesars, nor any other authority. Man will pass intothe kingdom of truth and justice, where generally there will be no  need forany authority.'     'Go on!'     'I didn't go on,' said the  prisoner.  'Here men ran in,  bound me, andtook me away to prison.'     The secretary, trying not to let drop a single word, rapidly traced diewords on his parchment.     'There never has been, is not, and never  will be any authority in thisworld  greater or better  for  people  than the  authority  of  the  emperorTiberius!'  Pilate's  cracked and sick  voice swelled. For some  reason  dieprocurator looked at the secretary and the convoy with hatred.     'And  it is  not for  you, insane criminal, to  reason about it!'  HerePilate shouted: 'Convoy, off the balcony!' And turning to  the secretary, headded: 'Leave me alone widi the criminal, this is a state matter!'     The convoy raised dieir spears and with a measured  tramp  of hobnailedcaligae  walked off die balcony into the garden, and the  secretary followedthe convoy.     For some time the  silence on the balcony was broken  only by the watersinging  in  the fountain.  Pilate saw how  the watery dish blew up over thespout, how its edges broke off, how it fell down in streams.     The prisoner was the first to speak.     'I see that some misfortune has come about because  I  talked with thatyoung  man from  Kiriath. I have a foreboding, Hegemon, that he will come togrief, and I am very sorry for him.'     'I think,' the procurator replied, grinning strangely, 'that  there  isnow someone else in the world for whom  you ought to feel  sorrier than' forJudas  of Kiriath, and who is  going to have it much worse than Judas! . . .So, then. Mark Ratslayer, a cold and  convinced torturer, die people who, asI see,' the procurator pointed  to  Yeshua's disfigured face,  'beat you foryour  preaching,  the robbers  Dysmas  and Gestas, who widi  their confrereskilled four  soldiers, and, finally, the dirty traitor Judas -- are all goodpeople?'     'Yes,' said the prisoner.     'And the kingdom of truth will come?'     'It will, Hegemon,' Yeshua answered with conviction.     'It will  never come!'  Pilate suddenly cried out in  such  a  terriblevoice that Yeshua drew  back.  Thus, many years before, in the Valley of theVirgins,  Pilate  had cried to  his horsemen the words: 'Cut them down!  Cutthem down! The giant Ratslayer  is trapped!'  He raised  his  voice, crackedwith commanding, still more, and called out so that his words could be heardin the garden: 'Criminal! Criminal! Criminal!' And dien, lowering his voice,he asked: 'Yeshua Ha-Nozri, do you believe in any gods?'     'God is one,' replied Yeshua, 'I believe in him.'     Then pray to him! Pray hard! However ...' here Pilate's voice gave out,'that won't help. No wife?' Pilate  asked with anguish for some reason,  notunderstanding what was happening to him. " 'No, I'm alone.'     'Hateful city . . .' die procurator suddenly muttered for some  reason,shaking his  shoulders as if  he  were cold, and rubbing his hands as thoughwashing them, 'if they'd put  a knife in you before your meeting with  Judasof Kiriath, it really would have been better.'     'Why  don't you let me go,  Hegemon?' the  prisoner asked unexpectedly,and his voice became anxious. 'I see they want to kill me.'     A spasm  contorted  Pilate's face, he  turned  to Yeshua the  inflamed,red-veined whites of his eyes and said:     'Do  you  suppose, wretch, that the Roman  procurator will let a man gowho has said what you have said?  Oh, gods, gods! Or  do you think I'm readyto take your  place? I don't share your thoughts! And listen to  me: if fromthis moment on  you say even one word, if you speak to anyone at all, bewareof me! I repeat to you -- beware!'     'Hegemon . . .'     'Silence!' cried Pilate, and his furious gaze followed the swallow thathad again fluttered on to the balcony. 'To me!' Pilate shouted.     And when the secretary and the convoy returned to their  places, Pilateannounced that he confirmed the death sentence passed at the meeting of  theLesser Sanhedrin  on the criminal Yeshua  Ha-Nozri, and the  secretary wrotedown what Pilate said.     A  moment  later  Mark  Ratslayer  stood  before  the  procurator.  Theprocurator ordered him to  hand the  criminal over to the head of the secretservice, along with the procurator's directive that Yeshua Ha-Nozri  was  tobe separated from the other condemned men, and also that the soldiers of thesecret service were  to be forbidden, on  pain of severe punishment, to talkwith Yeshua about anything at all or to answer any of his questions.     At a  sign  from Mark, the convoy closed around Yeshua and led him fromthe balcony.     Next  there stood before the  procurator a handsome, light-bearded  manwith eagle feathers on the crest of his helmet, golden  lions' heads shiningon his  chest,  and golden plaques on his  sword  belt, wearing triple-soledboots  laced  to the knees,  and with  a purple cloak  thrown  over his leftshoulder. This was the legate in command of the legion.     The procurator asked  him where  the Sebastean  cohort was stationed atthe  moment.  The legate told  him that the Sebasteans had cordoned  off thesquare in front of the hippodrome, where the sentencing of the criminals wasto be announced to the people.     Then the procurator ordered the legate to detach two centuries from theRoman cohort. One of them, under the command of Ratslayer, was to convoy thecriminals,  the  carts  with  the  implements  for  the  execution  and  theexecutioners  as  they were transported to Bald Mountain,^[24] andon arrival was to join the upper cordon. The other was to be sent at once toBald  Mountain and  immediately  start  forming  the  cordon.  For  the samepurpose, that is, to guard the mountain, the procurator asked the legate  tosend an auxiliary cavalry regiment -- the Syrian ala.     After the legate left the balcony, the procurator ordered the secretaryto summon to the palace the president of the Sanhedrin,  two of its members,and the head of the temple  guard in Yershalaim, adding that he asked thingsto be so arranged that  before conferring  with  all these people, he  couldspeak with the president previously and alone.     The procurator's order was executed quickly and precisely, and the sun,which  in   those  days  was  scorching  Yershalaim  with  an  extraordinaryfierceness, had not yet had time to approach its highest  point when, on theupper terrace of the garden, by the two white  marble lions that guarded thestairs, a meeting  took place between the  procurator and the man fulfillingthe duties  of  president  of the Sanhedrin,  the high  priest of the  Jews,Joseph Kaifa.^[25]     It  was  quiet in the garden. But  when  he  came  out  from under  thecolonnade to the sun-drenched upper level  of the garden with its palm treeson monstrous elephant  legs, from which  there spread  before the procuratorthe whole of hateful Yershalaim, with its hanging bridges,  fortresses, and,above  all, that  utterly  indescribable heap  of marble with  golden dragonscales for  a  roof - the temple of Yershalaim - the procurator's  sharp earcaught, far below, where  the stone wall separated the lower terraces of thepalace  garden from  the  city square, a low rumble over which from  time totime there soared feeble, thin moans or cries.     The procurator understood that there, on the square, a numberless crowdof  Yershalaim  citizens,  agitated  by  the recent  disorders,  had alreadygathered, that this  crowd  was waiting impatiently  for the announcement ofthe sentences, and that restless water sellers were crying in its midst.     The procurator began by inviting the high priest on to  the balcony, totake shelter from the merciless heat,  but Kaifa politely apologized^[26]and  explained  that he  could not do that  on the eve of  the feast.Pilate  covered  his  slightly  balding  head  with  a  hood and  began  theconversation. This conversation took place in Greek.     Pilate said  that  he had looked into  the case of  Yeshua Ha-Nozri andconfirmed the death sentence.     Thus, three robbers -  Dysmas, Gestas and Bar-Rabban  - and this YeshuaHa-Nozri besides,  were condemned to be executed, and it was to be done thatday. The  first two, who had ventured to  incite the people to rebel againstCaesar, had  been taken  in armed struggle  by the  Roman authorities,  wereaccounted  to  the procurator, and, consequently,  would not be talked abouthere. But the second  two, Bar-Rabban and Ha-Nozri,  had been seized by  thelocal authorities  and  condemned by  the Sanhedrin. According  to the  law,according to custom, one of these two criminals had to be released in honourof  the  great feast  of  Passover, which would  begin that day. And so  theprocurator wished to know which  of the two criminals the Sanhedrin intendedto set free: Bar-Rabban or Ha-Nozri?^[27]     Kaifa inclined  his head to signify that the question was clear to him,and replied:     'The  Sanhedrin asks that Bar-Rabban  be released.' The procurator knewvery  well that the high priest would  give precisely  that answer,  but histask consisted in showing that this answer provoked his astonishment.     This Pilate did with great artfulness.  The  eyebrows on  the  arrogantface rose,  the  procurator  looked  with amazement straight  into  the highpriest's eyes.     'I confess, this answer stuns  me,' the procurator  began softly,  'I'mafraid there may be some misunderstanding here.'     Pilate explained  himself. Roman  authority  does  not encroach in  theleast upon  the rights of the  local spiritual authorities,  the high priestknows  that very  well, but in the present case we are faced with an obviouserror.  And  this  error  Roman  authority  is,  of  course,  interested  incorrecting.     In fact, the crimes of Bar-Rabban and Ha-Nozri are  quite  incomparablein their  gravity. If the latter, obviously an  insane person,  is guilty ofuttering  preposterous  things in  Yershalaim  and  some other  places,  theformer's burden of guilt is more considerable. Not only did he allow himselfto  call  directly  for  rebellion, but  he also  killed a guard  during theattempt  to  arrest  him. Bar-Rabban  is  incomparably  more dangerous  thanHa-Nozri.     On  the strength of  all  the foregoing, the  procurator  asks the highpriest to reconsider the decision  and release the  less harmful of  the twocondemned men, and that is without doubt Ha-Nozri. And so? ...     Kaifa said in  a quiet but firm voice that the Sanhedrin had thoroughlyfamiliarized itself with the  case and informed him  a  second  time that itintended to free Bar-Rabban.     'What?  Even  after my intercession? The intercession  of  him  throughwhose person Roman authority speaks? Repeat it a third time. High Priest.'     'And a  third time I repeat that we are setting Bar-Rabban free,' Kaifasaid softly.     It was all over, and there was nothing more to talk about. Ha-Nozri wasdeparting  for ever, and there was no one to cure the dreadful, wicked painsof the procurator, there was no remedy for them except death. But it was notthis thought which now struck Pilate. The same incomprehensible anguish thathad already visited him on the balcony  pierced his whole being. He tried atonce to explain it, and the explanation was a strange one: it seemed vaguelyto the procurator that there was something he had not finished saying to thecondemned man, and perhaps something he had not finished hearing.     Pilate drove this thought away, and it flew off as  instantly as it hadcome flying. It flew off, and the anguish remained unexplained, for it couldnot well be explained  by another brief thought that flashed like  lightningand at once went out -- 'Immortality . . . immortality has come . . .' Whoseimmortality  had come?  That  the  procurator  did not understand,  but  thethought of this enigmatic  immortality made  him grow cold in the  scorchingsun.     'Very well,' said Pilate, 'let it be so.'     Here  he turned,  gazed  around  at the  world visible to him, and  wassurprised  at the change that had taken place. The bush laden with roses hadvanished,  vanished were the cypresses bordering the upper terrace, and  thepomegranate tree, and the white statue amidst the greenery, and the greeneryitself.  In place of it  all there  floated some purple mass,^[28]water weeds swayed  in it and began moving off somewhere, and Pilate himselfbegan moving  with them.  He was carried along now, smothered and burned, bythe most terrible wrath - the wrath of impotence.     'Cramped,' said Pilate, 'I feel cramped!'     With  a cold,  moist hand  he tore at the clasp  on  the  collar of hiscloak, and it fell to the sand.     'It's sultry  today, there's  a storm  somewhere,' Kaifa responded, nottaking his eyes  off the procurator's reddened face, and  foreseeing all thetorments  that still lay  ahead,  he  thought: 'Oh, what a terrible month ofNisan we're having this year!'     'No,' said Pilate, 'it's not  because of the sultriness, I feel crampedwith you here, Kaifa.' And, narrowing his eyes, Pilate smiled and added:     "Watch out for yourself. High Priest.'     The high  priest's dark eyes  glinted, and  with  his face  -  no  lessartfully than the procurator had done earlier -- he expressed amazement.     'What do I  hear. Procurator?' Kaifa  replied proudly and calmly.  "Youthreaten me after you yourself have confirmed  the sentence passed? Can thatbe? We are  accustomed to  the Roman procurator choosing his words before hesays something. What if we should be overheard, Hegemon?'     Pilate looked  at the high priest with dead eyes and, baring his teeth,produced a smile.     'What's your trouble. High Priest? Who can hear us where we are now? Doyou think I'm like that young vagrant holy fool who is to be executed today?Am I a boy, Kaifa? I know what I say and where I say it. There  is a  cordonaround the garden, a cordon around the palace, so that a  mouse couldn't getthrough any crack! Not only a mouse, but even that one, what's his name .  .. from the town of Kiriath, couldn't get through. Incidentally, High Priest,do you know him? Yes ...  if that one got  in here, he'd feel bitterly sorryfor himself, in this you will, of course,  believe me? Know, then, that fromnow on. High Priest, you  will have no peace! Neither you nor your people' -and Pilate pointed far off to  the right, where  the  temple blazed  on high-'it  is  I  who  tell you  so, Pontius  Pilate, equestrian  of  the  GoldenSpear!'^[29]     'I know, I  know!' the  black-bearded Kaifa fearlessly replied, and hiseyes flashed. He raised his arm to heaven and  went  on: "The  Jewish peopleknow  that  you  hate them with  a cruel hatred, and  will  cause  them muchsuffering,  but you will not destroy them utterly! God will protect them! Hewill hear us, the almighty Caesar will  hear, he will protect us from Pilatethe destroyer!'     'Oh, no!' Pilate exclaimed, and  he felt lighter and lighter with everyword: there was no more need to pretend,  no more  need to choose his words,"fou have complained about me too much to Caesar, and  now my hour has come,Kaifa! Now the message will fly from me, and not to the governor in Antioch,and  not to  Rome,  but directly  to Capreae, to  the  emperor  himself, themessage of how you in Yershalaim  are sheltering known criminals from death.And then it will not be water from  Solomon's Pool that I give Yershalaim todrink, as I wanted to do for  your own good! No, not water!  Remember how onaccount of you I had to  remove the shields with the emperor's insignia fromthe  walls, had to  transfer  troops, had, as you see, to come  in person tolook into what goes on with you here! Remember my words: it is  not just onecohort that you will see here in Yershalaim,  High Priest  -  no! The  wholeFulminata legion will come under the city  walls,  the Arabian  cavalry willarrive, and then you will hear bitter weeping and wailing! You will rememberBar-Rabban then, whom  you saved, and  you will  regret having  sent  to hisdeath a philosopher with his peaceful preaching!'     The high priest's face became  covered  with blotches, his eyes burned.Like the procurator, he smiled, baring his teeth, and replied:     'Do  you yourself believe what you are saying now. Procurator?  No, youdo  not!  It is  not peace, not  peace,  that  the  seducer of the people ofYershalaim  brought us, and you, equestrian, understand that perfectly well.You wanted to  release him so  that he could disturb the people, outrage thefaith, and  bring the people under  Roman swords! But I, the high  priest ofthe  Jews,  as long  as I live, will not allow the faith to be outraged  andwill  protect  the people! Do  you hear,  Pilate?' And  Kaifa raised his armmenacingly: 'Listen, Procurator!'     Kaifa fell silent, and the procurator again  heard a noise as if of thesea, rolling up to  the very  walls of the garden  of  Herod  the Great. Thenoise rose  from below to the feet  and into the face of the procurator. Andbehind  his back,  there, beyond  the  wings of  the palace,  came  alarmingtrumpet calls, the  heavy crunch of  hundreds of feet, the clanking of iron.The  procurator understood that the Roman infantry  was already setting out,on  his orders,  speeding to the parade of death so terrible for  rebels androbbers.     'Do  you hear.  Procurator?' the high priest repeated quietly. 'Are yougoing to tell me that all this' - here the high priest raised  both arms andthe dark hood  fell from his head - 'has been caused by the wretched  robberBar-Rabban?'     The procurator wiped his  wet, cold forehead with the back of his hand,looked at the ground, then, squinting at the sky, saw  that the red-hot ballwas almost over his head and that Kaifa's  shadow  had shrunk to  nothing bvthe lion's tail, and said quietly and indifferently:     'It's nearly noon.  We got carried away by our conversation, and yet wemust proceed.'     Having apologized in refined terms  before  the high priest, he invitedhim to sit down on a  bench in  the shade  of  a magnolia and  wait until hesummoned the other persons needed for the last brief conference and gave onemore instruction connected with the execution.     Kaifa bowed  politely, placing his hand on  his heart,  and stayed irirthe  garden  while  Pilate  returned  to  the  balcony. There  he  told  thesecretary, who had been  waiting for him, to invite to the garden the legateof the legion and the  tribune of the cohort,  as well as the two members ofthe  Sanhedrin and the  head  of the temple guard, who had been awaiting hissummons on the lower garden terrace,  in a round gazebo with a  fountain. Tothis Pilate added that he himself would come out to the  garden at once, andwithdrew into the palace.     While  the secretary was gathering the conference, the procurator  met,in a room shielded  from the sun by dark curtains, with a certain man, whoseface was half covered  by a hood, though he could not have been  bothered bythe  sun's  rays in  this  room.  The  meeting was a  very  short  one.  Theprocurator quietly spoke a few words to the man, after which he withdrew andPilate walked out through the colonnade to the garden.     There,  in  the  presence  of  all  those he  had desired to  see,  theprocurator solemnly and drily stated that he confirmed the death sentence onYeshua Ha-Nozri, and officially inquired  of the members of the Sanhedrin asto  whom among  the criminals they would like to grant life. Having receivedthe reply that it was Bar-Rabban, the procurator said:     Very well,' and told the  secretary to put it into the record at  once,clutched  in  his hand  the clasp that the secretary had picked up from  thesand, and said solemnly: Tt is time!'     Here  all those present started down  the wide marble stairway  betweenwalls of  roses that exuded  a  stupefying aroma, descending lower and lowertowards the palace wall, to the gates opening  on to the big, smoothly pavedsquare,  at the end  of  which could be seen the columns and statues  of theYershalaim stadium.     As soon as the group entered the square from the garden and mounted thespacious stone platform that dominated the  square, Pilate,  looking  aroundthrough narrowed eyelids, assessed the situation.     The  space  he  had just traversed, that is, the space  from the palacewall to the platform,  was empty, but before him Pilate could no longer  seethe square - it had been swallowed up  by the crowd, which would have pouredover the platform and the cleared space as well, had it not been kept at bayby a triple  row of Sebastean soldiers to the left of Pilate and soldiers ofthe auxiliary Iturean cohort to his right.     And so, Pilate mounted the platform, mechanically clutching the uselessclasp in his fist and squinting  his eyes.  The procurator was squinting notbecause the sun burned  his eyes -- no! For some  reason  he did not want tosee the group  of  condemned  men who,  as he knew perfectly well, were  nowbeing brought on to the platform behind him.     As soon as the white cloak with crimson lining appeared  high up on thestone cliff over the verge of the human sea, the unseeing  Pilate was struckin the ears bv a wave of  sound:  'Ha-a-a . . .' It started mutedly, arisingsomewhere  far away  by the hippodrome,  then  became thunderous and, havingheld out  for  a few  seconds, began  to  subside.  They've  seen  me,'  theprocurator  thought. The  wave  had  not reached its  lowest point before itstarted  swelling  again  unexpectedly  and, swaying, rose higher  than  thefirst, and as foam boils up on the billows of the sea, so a whistling boiledup on this second wave and, separate, distinguishable from the  thunder, thewails  of women. They've been led on to the platform,' thought Pilate,  'andthe wails mean that several women got crushed as the crowd surged forward.'     He waited for some  time, knowing that no power could silence the crowdbefore it exhaled all that was pent up in it and fell silent of itself.     And when this moment  came, the procurator threw up his  right arm, andthe last noise was blown away from the crowd.     Then Pilate drew into his breast as much of the hot air as he could andshouted, and his cracked voice carried over thousands of heads:     'In the name of the emperor Caesar! . . .'     Here  his ears were struck several times by  a  clipped iron shout: thecohorts of soldiers  raised high their spears and standards and shouted  outterribly:     'Long live Caesar!'     Pilate lifted  his face and thrust it straight into the sun. Green fireflared  up behind his  eyelids,  his brain took  flame from  it,  and hoarseAramaic words went flying over the crowd:     'Four  criminals,  arrested  in Yershalaim  for murder,  incitement  torebellion, and  outrages against the laws and the faith, have been sentencedto a  shameful  execution  -  by hanging on posts! And  this  execution willpresently be carried out on  Bald Mountain! The  names of  the criminals areDysmas, Gestas, Bar-Rabban and Ha-Nozri. Here they stand before you!'     Pilate pointed to his right, not seeing any criminals, but knowing theywere there, in place, where they ought to be.     The  crowd responded with a  long rumble as if of surprise  or  relief.When it died down, Pilate continued:     'But only three  of them will be executed, for, in accordance with  lawand custom, in honour of the feast of Passover, to  one of the condemned, aschosen  by  the  Lesser Sanhedrin  and  confirmed  by  Roman authority,  themagnanimous emperor Caesar will return his contemptible life!'     Pilate cried out the words and at the same time listened as the  rumblewas replaced by a great silence. Not a sigh, not  a  rustle reached his earsnow, and there was even a moment  when  it  seemed to Pilate that everythingaround  him had vanished altogether. The hated  city died,  and  he alone isstanding there, scorched  by the sheer  rays,  his face set against the sky.Pilate held the silence a little longer, and then began to cry out:     'The name of  the one who will now be set free before  you is . . .' Hemade one more pause, holding back the name, making  sure  he  had  said all,because  he knew that the dead  city would  resurrect  once the name  of thelucky  man  was spoken, and  no further  words would be heard. 'All?' Pilatewhispered soundlessly to himself.  'All. The  name!' And, rolling the letter'r' over the silent city, he cried:     'Bar-Rabban!'     Here it  seemed  to  him that the sun,  clanging,  burst  over  him andflooded his ears  with  fire.  This fire raged  with  roars, shrieks, wails,guffaws and whistles.     Pilate  turned  and walked  back across the  platform  to  the  stairs,looking at nothing  except the multicoloured  squares of the flooring  underhis feet, so as not to trip.  He knew that behind his back  the platform wasbeing showered with bronze coins, dates, that people in the howling mob wereclimbing on shoulders,  crushing  each  other, to see the miracle with theirown eyes - how a man already in the grip of death escaped that grip! How thelegionaries take the ropes off him, involuntarily causing  him  burning painin  his  arms, dislocated during  his  interrogation;  how  he, wincing  andgroaning, nevertheless smiles a senseless, crazed smile.     He knew that at the same time the convoy was already leading the  threemen with bound arms to the side stairs, so as to take them to the road goingwest  from  the  city,  towards  Bald  Mountain.  Only  when he was  off theplatform, to the rear of  it, did Pilate open his eyes, knowing  that he wasnow safe -- he could no longer see the condemned men.     Mingled with the wails of the quieting crowd,  yet distinguishable fromthem, were the piercing cries of heralds repeating,  some in Aramaic, othersin Greek,  all that  the procurator had cried out from the platform. Besidesthat, there came to his ears the tapping, clattering and approaching thud ofhoofs,  and  a trumpet calling  out something brief and merry. These  soundswere  answered by the drilling whistles of bovs on the roofs of houses alongthe street that led from the bazaar to  the hippodrome  square, and by criesof 'Look out!'     A soldier,  standing alone in the cleared space of  the  square  with astandard  in his hand,  waved it anxiously,  and  then  the  procurator, thelegate of the legion, the secretary and the convoy stopped.     A cavalry  ala, at an ever-lengthening  trot, flew out into the square,so as to cross it at one side, bypassing the mass of people, and ride down alane under a stone  wall  covered with  creeping vines, taking the  shortestroute to Bald Mountain.     At a  flying trot, small as a boy, dark as a mulatto, the commander  ofthe ala, a Syrian,  coming abreast  of Pilate,  shouted something in a  highvoice and snatched his sword  from  its  sheath. The  angry, sweating  blackhorse  shied and reared.  Thrusting his sword  back  into  its  sheath,  thecommander struck the horse's  neck with his crop, brought him down, and rodeoff  into  the lane, breaking  into a gallop.  After him,  three  by  three,horsemen flew in  a cloud  of  dust, the  tips  of their light bamboo lancesbobbing,  and faces dashed past  the procurator - looking especially swarthyunder their white turbans - with merrily bared, gleaming teeth.     Raising dust to  the sky, the ala  burst into the lane, and the last toride past Pilate  was a soldier with a trumpet slung on his back, blazing inthe sun.     Shielding himself from the dust with his hand  and  wrinkling his  facediscontentedly,  Pilate started  on in  the  direction  of  the gates to thepalace garden, and after him came the legate, the secretary, and the convoy.     It was around ten o'clock in the morning.